A Rain of Stars
by konpeito-chan
Summary: Through much does the Warrior of Light continue her journey, ever more and more conscious of the pain she endures despite the smiles and adulation. Thanks is never enough, but so she continues, a servant to the Light of Hydaelyn. And yet, the only one to ever ask what she wanted, what she as the woman behind the title wanted from her life...was Ser Aymeric, son of Ishgard.


Chapter 1 - Aymeric: A Little Respite

At times, he would steal glances at the woman. She was beautiful, of course, body fit from a life of adventuring and the face of an angel, kind and sweet when the moment allowed and powerful and fierce at others. In a word, he was in awe from the moment he heard her name from another's lips. He had told her that he had been "fascinated", but the truth was that he was enthralled, enraptured, enamored from the moment his eyes set on her. The long glance he first gave her was not of appreciation from one warrior to another, but the look of a man seeing a woman he had dreamed of for many moons.

In his heart of hearts, he knew this to be true, but he kept it close to his chest. He could see the same in his dear friends-though Haurchefant de Fortemps was more free (and honest) with his affections, Estinien, who had been in actual combat against and with the woman, held much the same revere for her (though in his own way). It was, in a way, absolutely normal, to Aymeric de Borel, that the Warrior of Light, this small woman named Mariya, would be the object of much admiration.

And yet.

When he saw her that night after so many nights, having freed him (and his nation) from the corruption of his father and a near-endless war, Aymeric could have sworn that she, the Defender of Eorzea, was just as fragile as everyone else. Indeed, perhaps more so, considering how much she kept hidden from all of the world, even those who were meant to be friends. Even him.

He had felt foolish then, seeing her shattered after the loss of Ysayle and Haurchefant and others who he had never met. How had he not expect her to mourn her friends, whether or not she knew them well at all? The Warrior of Light, sent by Hydaelyn to save Eorzea... but who was supposed to save her?

That night, the night of the celebration, Aymeric found Mariya among the chocobo in the royal stables, far removed from the crowds and even her companions. When he approached, she was petting her bird, a small (delicate) hand resting on its beak. Even from where he was, at the entrance of the stables, he could see her bird companion looking in concern at his owner. It was only when the Elezen, now de facto leader of Ishgard, came closer that he could see her small shoulders shaking so hard.

She was crying.

She was crying so hard that she made no movement even when he was close enough to hear her muffled sobs.

At that moment, he wondered: how can a woman, Hyur or otherwise, carry the world on such small shoulders? She may be their savior but he felt, at that moment, there was so little he had given to repay her for all the she had done, not just for Ishgard but for Eorzea, perhaps even beyond. He knew so precious little, he realized, about the woman called the Bringer of Light.

"...I am sorry, Mariya," was all Aymeric managed to say, more of a hushed voice than a firm statement. He placed his hands on her shoulders, so small even under the heavy dragoon armor. "If there is, was, anything I could do..."

"Stop it," came her voice, hoarse and tired. "Stop. It."

She turned around and he saw the ferocity in her gaze. It made him step back, even if he knew (somehow) that the anger was not meant for him.

"I wanted... I never wanted this! I never wanted to save the world! To see everyone I love die! And for what? Because the gods use us for their whims! How am I supposed to protect the world in Hydaelyn's name when I can't even protect Ysayle or... or..."

She broke down then, falling helpless into Aymeric's arms. For his part, he did the only thing he thought right.

He held her.

He held her for as long as she held onto his arms, her beautiful face pressed into the cloak around his armor. He gathered the fabric around her, as if perhaps he could shield her for just that moment. It was all he could do, hide her from the world that caused her so much pain, pain that she withheld from everyone around her. All because she cared too much.

It was then he knew that he loved her, truly and deeply. That he wanted to protect her and not rely on her. How could he, after all, be caretaker of Ishgard but rely on this oh so mortal woman to fight all the battles? Estinien, for all his callous demeanor and lack of tact, had had it right: when was it that we ever asked the Warrior of Light what SHE needed?

Nothing happened after that night, that moment. The day returned and he saw Mariya in her usual attire, smiling with her companions, only a glimpse (but a glimpse still) of a melancholy in her slow movements, a touch of hesitation. For a brief moment, however, she smiled at him when she caught his gaze, a gentle sweep and a slight nod. It was as if the breath had been sucked right out of him, to see her look at him like that, with the appreciation of a loved one. He felt relief and also a sickness in watching her leave his sight. If only...

How many moons passed, he wasn't sure. He saw her infrequently, always on duty, the duty of helping every person who asked for her help with no regard for herself. And, as he had done before, he listened and watched for her, stories of her trials and battles reaching him easily enough. Was it enough? No, of course it wasn't. He wanted to see her, he wanted to know if she was well, if she was resting enough between journeying across the world. Mariya was not want for allies, but _he_ wanted to be there. Never had a man been so embittered about becoming the leader of a country than when Aymeric was left in Ishgard while the object of his affection traveled across the continent.

She did return to Ishgard, though. As Azure Dragoon, the second chosen by the Eye along with Estinien, she returned with some regularity, visiting her mentor Ser Alberic to discuss her lancework and so on. But, more than that, she dropped by House Fortemps Manor every time she set foot in Coerthas. He knew it was because she felt an obligation to the family of the one she loved, a man who had given his life for hers. And, in a way, they were her family in Ishgard and Eorzea as a whole. So, Aymeric looked at his opportunities and, weighing his options, sent a letter to Count Edmond de Fortemps, a note to expressly deliver a sealed envelope to Mariya whenever she returned.

It was a fortnight before he heard anything. One of his attending knights knocked on his door, the night already settling over the horizon. Aymeric, having lost hope easily, waved the soldier in. If the knight said anything, Aymeric didn't recall, his mind only registering an envelope being set on his wide desk. After a moment of staring at it, he nodded to Lucia and all the other soldiers to leave him for a moment. Lucia, of course, raised an eyebrow, but he only shook his head. As devoted as she was, he did not always want to tell her everything. It wasn't a matter of trust, of course, it was simply... he preferred keeping his personal affairs to himself.

And it was with that in mind, he sat himself down, his hands shaking just enough as he lifted the envelope in his hand. It was not extravagant paper, he noted, running his fingers across the surface, but the handwriting was neat and certainly not in the Ishgardian style of lettering. When he lifted the envelope to his lips, he smelled earth and, faintly, something herbal, perhaps tea made with fruit. Honey. Lemon.

The seal was of course from House Fortemps, but he suspected Mariya was not a woman who often had need of seals. (After all, who else could it be from?) He gently pried the letter open, a blunt knife separating the wax from paper. It was a small note and he found himself relieved as he read through the words.

" _Dearest Ser Aymeric,_

 _I would be full glad to join you for a meal and conversation. If it is well and good, I am only to be in Ishgard for a few days, but I can meet with you on the morrow, say for afternoon tea? While I am sure you are a man used to servants preparing your meals, I am a trained member of the Culinarian's Guild in Limsa Lominsa. I will bring a treat, as a gift for your hospitality._

 _Your Friend,_

 _M.B.M."_

Aymeric read the letter two times and then a third and fourth. He knew it was from Mariya, but he realized he wasn't sure of the initials. He knew her name as Mariya, surname Mitsutada, an exotic name but most likely Doman in origin... but what was the middle initial? He tilted his head, considering a plethora of options. He realized, then, that he hardly knew her outside her deeds in Eorzea. When had he ever asked her about her origins? Did she have a family? She was not from Eorzea, from what he had been told, so from what far shore did she hail from? Had she always been a lancer? (He was sure not, considering he had seen her wield everything from a great axe to a longsword and even an arcanist spellbook...)

Grasping a cup of Ishgardian tea, he held it to his lips, his mind racing. She knew so much about him, witnessed him at his less gracious, even saved his life on more than one occasion. So... why did he know so little about her? He prayed to Halone; perhaps he needed this opportunity more than he had thought before.

The Lord Speaker of the Houses spent the next day agonizing about the little touches around his home, straightening every painting, arranging the chairs around every table, but particularly the table set for tea. He nearly had his stewart go to the markets to buy a new tea set, but refrained only because he knew the Warrior of Light was not a woman who cared about extravagance. After all, she was a woman who spent many nights in the wilderness with nothing but a chocobo as her companion. (Though she certainly did deserve more than that.)

Before he knew it, the guard at the front of his manor opened the door and announced Aymeric's guest for the evening. "Mistress Mitsutada is here, my lord," the elder Elezen stated with a bow. Aymeric, one hand on the back of a chair to steady himself, watched as the woman entered the door... And found his voice stuck in his throat.

She was not dressed in her usual armor, whether the revealing dragoon armor (why on earth was the female version of the Azure Dragoon armor so... distracting? Estinien didn't have so much skin bare in comparison...) or her lighter adventuring outfits (again, a bit revealing at times... of course he noticed the ramie open to reveal her bosom that one time she returned from Tailfeather... Halone be praised that he wore such heavy armor and there were other people he could keep his eyes on.) No, instead she was in an outfit he knew Miss Tataru Taru had wove herself-simple but elegant, a stark white dress with silver embellishments that conformed to her curves, her small but not too small waist, the flare of her wide hips, short enough to reveal just a touch of skin above her high black leather boots, a small heel that was practical but gave her walk just enough of a sway to make his eyes linger a little too long.

Why, he prayed, did Halone see fit to test his willpower at every turn?

Mariya smiled at him and gave him her usual little nod and Aymeric cleared his throat.

"Apologies," he said, managing to gain control of himself. "I simply... I was a bit surprised. Miss Tataru has become a very skilled weaver, it seems."

She tilted her head, her golden eyes curious.

"I suppose that is a compliment...?"

His pale blue eyes looked to the side, to the snow falling beyond his windows.

"Yes. You are... stunning. As always."

Her smile widened.

"Ah. Thank you," she said, her voice sweet. "You are too kind, Ser Aymeric."

Turning back to her, he couldn't help but smile. Her face was rosey with happiness, the difference between night and day from that night after the end of the war in Ishgard. It was too easy to see how Lord Haurchefant had fallen so quickly in love with her. After all, was Aymeric much different? (Apparently Elezen men have a weakness for powerful but petite Hyur women.)

He waved a hand, shaking his head.

"Please, just Aymeric. We are friends and there's no need for pretense here."

Her full smile, radiant and happier than he had ever seen since that day at the Vault, all but melted his worries away, the hesitation and self-doubt. A soft laugh escaped his lips and he shut his eyes. What a fool he was. Lovesick was the term, wasn't it? 

"Aymeric," her voice came out, soft and dreamy and the Elezen, a full foot taller than the woman, felt his heart swell tenfold. Indeed, he was quite enamored. "Such a pleasant sounding name."

"Not as pleasant as yours, I would think," he replied, confidence returned. He waved a hand to the table. "Please sit. I was actually going to ask you about your name. Just a little curiosity, if you'll indulge me."

She sat, just as she had that day they met in Camp Dragonhead, her hands on her knees, leaning ever so forward. Aymeric continued to smile, his unease melting away as his shoulders (finally) relaxed.

"Oh! Do you mean how I signed the letter?" She laughed a little. "I wasn't thinking. It's not often I write letters, so I suppose I should explain..." She shut her eyes, her long lashes against her sand-colored skin. "My father was from Doman, but I was born and raised in Valendia, my mother's homeland. My full name is Mariya Bardorba Mitsutada. Bardorba is my mother's maiden name, or so I've been told."

Aymeric tilted his head at her last statement.

"You did not know your mother...?"

"No," she shook her head, her smile fading just a tad. "Nor my father. Valendia is bordered by Galtea to the south, with Ordallia and then Ivalice to the west. I am told my mother's family is originally from Ivalice, but moved to Valendia at some point..."

She laughed, shaking her head again.

"My apologies," she continued, "Not many people have inquired about the time before I came to Eorzea. I think many people take it for granted that I must be from Eorzea to do what I do for Eorzea. I don't mean to ramble."

The Elezen smiled, now sitting just aside from the Warrior of Light, his face the picture of eagerness as he leaned towards her, tea all but forgotten.

"No, no. Please, go on." He gave a nod of his own. "I've come to understand that you know so much about me, but I have yet to truly get to know the woman behind the hero."

She gave him a full smile that told him she was, indeed, grateful. Perhaps no one truly knew her after all. At least, no one who lived to speak of it.

"Valendia is a beautiful country, but harsh, just like Ishgard, I suppose. It might explain why I find myself here more often than not..."

For a good hour, Aymeric listened to her stories of life before Eorzea, of being an orphan but raised by family friends, good souls who tried to treat her well. Throughout all of this, Aymeric was enraptured, feeling as if he was learning histories he had never been taught, so beyond his borders, past even Garlemald's empire in the east. Valendia, it seemed, was a country with inherent magic in its very soils with the same true for all the other nations of Othard, with histories so deep and stories so old that they've been handed partially down in Eorzea, such as the story of the Zodiac Braves, which Aymeric had heard of, though only in passing.

"My teacher was also from Valendia," she said with a nod. "They call him the Vagrant, but he was one of the keepers of my family's history. He took me in after my grandmother passed and we traveled all over Othard as he taught me how to wield weapons and how magic worked... Though he wanted me to train as an Arcanist, I abandoned it early in favor of the lance."

"He seems very wise and very... talented. I don't think I know of anyone, aside from you, who has trained in nearly all disciplines," Aymeric stated, his mind piecing together all the skills she had shown over the years. "Pray tell, he must have been a veteran of some renown, surely..."

Mariya laughed.

"I don't know, to be honest." She shrugged. "He was more interested in helping people we met along the way than telling me anything about himself. I suppose that's where I get that particular trait from. His name is Ashley and he was a knight... or mercenary... All I really know was that he was a friend of my mother's family. Long, long ago, the Bardorba were members of nobility, but that structure no longer exists. My teacher's family, apparently, were knights in service to mine."

She blinked for a moment, then looked at the teapot between them.

"Oh my!" she half-laughed. "I believe we've forgotten about tea, Aymeric." She gave him a nod before reaching for a small bag, and taking out an equally small box. Setting it on the table, she pushed it towards the Elezen. "Please, this is for you. A small token for a man who has but everything."

'But you' Aymeric wanted to say, but kept silent if only to take the neatly wrapped present. Pulling the ribbon, the box opened soft, revealing a dainty cake that might sell for a very high price to the noble ladies in Ishgard. A single large strawberry sat atop white frosting, the frosting just translucent enough to reveal a hint of red in the cake. Looking at the eager smile on Mariya's face, Aymeric took one delicate fork and cut into it, revealing a blood red cake, moist with a touch of chocolate to its scent. When he took a bite, he found himself surprised. It was indeed chocolate, but of a different accent. Sweet, yes, but not too coyling. In a few words, very pleasant indeed.

When he looked up, Mariya touched her thumb to his bottom lip, her eyes and smile gentle and caring.

"You've a crumb just there," she said, wiping her finger across his lip. Aymeric stared at her hand, the touch like fire on his skin. Setting the fork down, he took her hand that hovered close to his face.

"Mariya, if I may," he began, licking his lips. The cake's sweetness remained, just a touch. "I must confess... I invited you here, yes, to come to know you better, as I had before, but to also... express... my unending gratitude and... affection. For you."

She leaned forward, her eyes flitting from his lips to his pale blue eyes.

"Aymeric..."

"I love you. Dearly," he stated, his voice soft, barely above a whisper. "I've wanted to tell you that for so long that I can't bear it anymore... Please, I..."

Gold eyes looked into blue, searching. She said nothing for some time, but leaned forward more, tilting her head just a tad back as her hands touched his face, soft on either side. Slowly, it seemed her touch made him gravitate further to her and when their lips were just breaths apart, she looked into his eyes again.

"I used to think you were so cold, so... political. Self-righteous. But, you are kind and gentle, after all," she said, her sigh warm on his lips. "An idealist. A romantic. Are you my romantic?"

"If you would have me, my lady," he replied, "I will be yours forever."

"Then, kiss me, Ser Aymeric, son of Ishgard."

"As you wish, my lady."

His hands reached for her just as he closed the space between them, his mouth over hers with such urgency. He could feel her hands grip into the cloth of his cloak, he all but pulling her right into his lap. She did straddle him, the feel of her against him making him shudder as she made a small gasp into his mouth. Oh, how he wanted her and how overcome he was that, finally, she was here and he could touch her, feel her... love her as openly as he had longed to for so very long.

Who gave a damn what the bloody Ishgardian socialites thought of their Lord Speaker being involved (nay, in love) with a Hyur woman?

But he wasn't thinking at the moment, not really. Her body was pressed against his and the second part of his need, the very physical one, made him growl into her neck, nipping at her skin as she shivered at his touch, he pressing her hips down onto his. She arched her back, her whole body shaking with want.

"Ah..." she gasped, her hands shaking. "Aymeric..."

"By the Fury," he huffed, holding her tight. "You drive me mad, my love. I cannot..."

Her lips touched his cheek, then right behind his pointed ear, a small nip at the lobe.

"I... I think... I think we should retire to the bedchamber," she said, more of a huff than actual speaking. All the while, her hips pressed against his and he dragged his teeth against her neck. "Oh, Aymeric..."

Without a word, he lifted her from his lap, swinging one arm under her legs to carry her in his arms. He never felt so powerful, carrying the savior of the world in his arms, even if she felt as light as a feather. Like a soldier marching towards the battlefield, he walked her to his bedroom, carrying her as she nuzzled into his neck, an arm on his shoulder to balance herself. Blasted Ishgardian manors, Aymeric thought, why did this hallway have to be so long?

If he kicked the door, it was out of instinct. A man on a mission, he carried his prize across the threshold and, with long strides, straight to his bed. The fireplace had already been lit a few hours ago (it was always so cold in Ishgard) and he pulled off his cloak with a shrug. Before he realized her movements, Mariya had sat up and her fingers, nimble digits, worked at the buttons of his jacket, making swift work of them. Once she freed the closures, he pulled the offending article off him before pulling his shirt up and over. Now, he thought, looking down at the woman, the oh so _gorgeous_ woman, her turn.

With a gentle touch, he pushed her into her back, his fingers opening her bodice as her fingers worked from the bottom of her skirt up. All the while, he pressed kisses into her neck, breathed the smell of her in, the smell of cool air and earthy herbals, a touch of lavender in her hair. Her fingers combed through his hair, smoothing over the raven locks, brushing hair from his eyes. He pulled back only to watch her pull off the jacket dress, nothing on her but her small clothes.

He must have been staring, as she giggled, smiling up at him.

"Come, Ser Aymeric. You have seen a Hyur girl naked, haven't you?"

He stuttered, his cheeks hot as he looked away, a hand partially covering his mouth.

"N-no... I mean..."

She took his free hand in hers and placed it above her heart.

"I do not mind if you see me. If you look. I am covered in scars, just as you are," she stated, her eyes flitting across his bare chest. "But that does not make you any less handsome or beautiful. I hope you feel the same for me."

His pale blue eyes turned back to her, his hand lowering from his lips. She was right; Mariya had several scars, but she was beautiful just the same. His hands reached for her tracing scars across her arms, her stomach. There was a jagged one, right under one of her collarbones and his fingers slid across the dip. She smiled at him, taking his hand again to kiss his palm, eyes fluttering close. She had such long eyelashes, dark like a lightless night. The Twelve could not have blessed such perfection on anyone else.

He kissed her then, pressing his lips on hers before coaxing her mouth open so that he could taste her, feel her just as hands smoothed across her skin. She tasted of sweetness, of summer fruit and crisp waters. Her own hands smoothed down his chest, slow and tender, before playing idly with the buckle of his belt. He smiled against her lips, more of a grin than anything else. How impolite of him; he should never make a lady wait.

Sliding his belt off, he kicked his trousers off along with his boots, he too now in just small clothes. Her hand reached for him and felt him stiff and he sighed, warm, into her hair. His whole body ached for her, wanted her, but he did not want to rush her. So, he let her explore his body with her hands, her lips kissing his chest as he hovered before her, watching her with awe. When her fingers slid under his undergarments, he shuddered, feeling her cool hand grasp him.

Her cheeks were bright red and she giggled with a soft breath.

"You Elezen men... That the Twelve bless you with such endowments..."

A quiet laugh escaped his lips, even as he wanted to groan, her hand smoothing and touching and feeling. She slid the remaining piece of modesty from him, down from his hips as far as she could while he did the rest. Her eyes moved up to meet his and she placed a hand on his shoulders. The glimmer in them, as if reflecting the stars outside, told him to trust her and he obeyed as she rolled him onto the bed and underneath her.

Straddling him, there was a small but playful smile across her lips, even if her eyes showed a not so small bit of shyness. They were pressed together, but cloth remained between them. She felt warm, exquisitely warm, and he would have shut his eyes to relish the feeling if he did not see her unwrap the cloth around her bust, slow to reveal to him the beautiful curves. His hands slid up from her stomach to her breasts, perfect handfuls, and he smiled to see her eyes flutter close, her lips parted as she let out a long sigh. It was, to him, as if he were but offering his devotion to a goddess, his fingers feeling the tautness of her nipples. The look on her face, though... Breathtaking.

Her hips started to move on their own and it took all of his remaining willpower to not throw her underneath him and take her. No, no, if he was to worship his personal goddess, he needed to let her lead his hands, his body. Taking his hands again, she kissed his knuckles, his palms, one two, before scooting off him (to which he made a not so small sound of disapproval). But she smiled at him, oh so sweetly, before pulling the remaining piece of clothing from her form, sliding even lower after that as... When she took him into her mouth, his hips pressed skyward and his eyes finally shut, groaning into the air. She worked him for several minutes, kissing, licking, sucking, holding, fondling, and he felt himself reach too close to the peak.

Shaking his head, he gently pushed her up from his sex, his eyes glossy with lust as they met hers, blue reflected in gold.

"Gods, I love you," he said, voice hoarse. "If you are mine, then I am your slave. As Halone is my witness, I shall never know another's touch but yours that will make me so blissfully happy."

Again she smiled, her fingers wiping at the corner of her mouth.

"If I make you happy, then I am happy," she said with a nod. "I love you, Aymeric, Son of Ishgard. By the Twelve, I swear upon my mother's grave that I shall cherish you until the light of the crystal leaves me at the end of days."

"And I, you, my love."

With a soft touch, he brought her lips to his again, feeling her body against his as she lay atop of him. Nothing, no lover before, had ever felt so right, so good, so wholeheartedly perfect. His hands tangled in her hair, he tasted her lips again and again, only breaking apart for a breath. She pulled back, then, lifting herself as she sat atop of him, grasping him with her small hands and guiding him into her warmth. She gasped loudly, very loud, as she eased him inside, he grunting as he filled her all the way to the hilt. For a moment, they stayed there, joined in that perfect harmony of lovers. With his eyes half open, Aymeric watched in wonder, Mariya's head tilted back, her fingertips just a touch on his abdomen, gasping as if she were a woman who had come up from the waters for air.

And then, they began to move. Slow at first, she guiding him the first few steps before he took a hold of her hips, taking over as they made love, rocking together, bodies meeting again and again. Aymeric shut his eyes tight, as did she, feeling each others body entwined. As sure as time, Aymeric's lover began to move in earnest, her voice getting higher and higher, louder and louder.

"Aymeric, Aymeric," she cried out, his name but a blessing on her lips. "Please, ah... It's so... Oh, gods, it feels so... so perfect... I..."

"Come for me," he all but growled, holding her hips firm as he brought her down on him again and again. "Come, my love, come for me..."

When he brought her down again, she screamed, back arching hard as he felt her pulse around him, nearly sending him over the edge as she reached the blessed peak. His body shuddered in the wake of her orgasm, threatening to spill over, and he took hold of her, rolling her so that she was now underneath him.

A touch to her chin, he looked into her eyes for a long moment, even as his body urged him to continue, to complete their union.

"I love you," he repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that night. "I have never loved anyone as I have loved you, and I will never, I am sure of it." He paused for a breath, his eyes earnest. "To Halone, to the Twelve, to Hydaelyn, I promise you that I will protect you just as much as you protect the world, cherish you until time takes me. This, I swear."

Her hands touched either side of his face.

"And I, you," she stated, an echo of his earlier words.

As they kissed, he pulled her hips over his, pushing into her again so that she moaned into his mouth, body shivering, not from the cold, but from the feeling of him inside her. Aymeric, for his part, worked in earnest, pushed himself from going over the blessed heights so that she could reach the pinnacle again and again. He tried to count them, her cries and her moans, but he was lost in the sensations, the overwhelming pleasure of both the physical and the spiritual. Soon enough, he spilled his seed into her, pulling her close as they collapsed together.

The fireplace crackled low, the heat of their bodies more than what the fireplace could provide. Aymeric held Mariya tightly, kissing her bare shoulder as their breathing evened out. She let out a breath that told him she was finally at ease, the tensions in her shoulders fading away. He only removed his hold on her to pull the covers around them, returning his arms around her with another kiss to her skin.

And like that, they fell to slumber, Aymeric taking in the smell of lavender in his lover's hair.


End file.
